


Lick The Flames

by heisnameless



Category: Logan Lucky (2017)
Genre: Gen, Minor Character Death, hurt/discomfort
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-19
Updated: 2020-09-19
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:28:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26540659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heisnameless/pseuds/heisnameless
Summary: Every five hundred years, a Phoenix is Reborn. This time, it’s right inside of Boone County.
Relationships: Clyde Logan/Reader, Clyde Logan/You
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	Lick The Flames

_Crack. Snap._

It was nearing midnight. It’d been over six centuries since the last phoenix had risen. Now, it was time for a new one. It was a time of _Rebirth_. Each bone broke in the man’s body as he rose from his couch, stumbling and struggling. Despite his age, he didn’t look a day over twenty.

He wanted to make it down the hall to bid his children a farewell, maybe give his wife one last kiss as she laid in their bed. He’d spent the day prior reminiscing on all the things semi-immortal life had granted him because he knew. He knew what was coming once midnight struck. His hair had already begun shedding and sometimes when he’d turn, there’d be a lone, red feather in the mix.

When his body disintegrates, he falls to the floor with a flicker of pain before he’s gone. The pain doesn’t linger long because then, he’s nothing but a pile of dust and there, once more, is a feather floating to the top of the pile.

Meanwhile, on the other side of Boone County, a bartender works after hours, closing up. He’s just closed the door, latched it when the tingling in his arm returns. He too knew what was coming. See, his ancestors bore this supposed curse a thousand years ago. At least that’s how the story goes. No one ever thought another Logan man would be Reborn a Phoenix.

Clyde stumbles, catching himself on a barstool as his eyes catch a feather on the ground. He had seen it earlier but hadn’t thought a thing of it. Now, as his knees gave out, he reaches to pluck it up between his fingers. His veins sang, burned in response to the closeness of it. The last Phoenix had been there, had been in the bar. Fate, what a fickle thing it was. 

A cry echoed through the bar as pain shot through the man’s body and the feather falls from between his fingertips. He struggles to unlatch his false arm, attempting to toss it as far as he can because he’s read the stories. He knows what’s supposed to happen and he would like to have that piece of him when he comes back. 

His body feels like it’s on fire, his veins igniting once more from the force of it. He’s Changing, body shivering despite the heat that rises behind his eyes. They roll back, his eyelids were becoming heavy. For a moment, it’s as if he’s floating. His hand and arm raise before dropping, lava at his fingertips. He’s on fire, he knows he is. He can _smell_ it, can smell his flesh burning away along with his clothes. 

And then, Clyde’s body crumbles, smoke rising from the pile of burned clothing and flesh; however, in the midst of it all is a bird. A Phoenix was meant to be the size of an eagle if that, but this one, this one was larger than that. His feathers were crimson with a dark umber coating along his underbelly, eyes almost matching while being a shade lighter. 

His beak presses into the ashes, pushing himself into a rising position before he stretches out. A wing stretches out, knocking against a table before he quickly shifts away, stumbling over his talons. When Clyde dips his head to get a good look at the damage he’d done to the bar, he opens his ~~mouth~~ beak to curse. Instead, it comes out as a soft, delicate roar.


End file.
